


I'm N Luv (Wit a Stripper)

by Grapefruitwhiteclaw



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Dry Humping, M/M, Male Solo, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:40:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26960797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grapefruitwhiteclaw/pseuds/Grapefruitwhiteclaw
Summary: A lonely man goes to a gay strip club. It's not like anything will happen there...This started as a joke but imma add another chapter soon cus it's actually kinda fire??
Relationships: Robbie Rotten/Sportacus
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

According to the dashboard clock, it was already 9:36 in the evening.  
No point sitting the car.  
The driver unwapped a stick of bubblegum and deposited the paper into the pile of clutter that rode shotgun.  
He double checked the lock before crossing the street, eyes cast on swimming reflections of neon signs in the puddles. 

Magic Lamp (Bar & Lounge.)

Stripes of rainbow adorned the building, beckoning to the loneliness that drove the man here on a dismal Tuesday night.  
His face remained downward except for when the bouncer briefly glanced at his identification.  
Just another lonely middle aged salary man.  
He looked like an asshole.  
Probably a creep.  
He needed a drink.

"The prosecco is fine." Smiling either at the simplicity of the order or the atm-fresh tip, a dark haired bartender tipped an extra ripple of wine into the visitor's glass.  
Evidently he needed the fortification. 

It wasn't until the second pour, at the most securely isolated end of the counter, that he let himself raise his head and survey the landscape.  
The club was busy, though not crowded, and well staffed. Music was too young for him as usual.  
The odds of an isolated, unlikable bachelor receiving sexual attention were not high.

But they weren't zero.

"Hiding back here with me?" the bartender yelled over the trembling subwoofers, "You didn't come here to drink prosecco alone!"

"Presumptuous of you." His vocabulary slanted more obscure after some wine.

"Well amigo, if you have more of those bills in your pocket then you should be at the stage-" The bartender gestured a bottle across the room to a raised platform- a stage basking in red light.  
Someone swung their lengthy legs around a glistening steel pole, body floating in effortless circles.  
There seemed to be enough spectators around to blend in.

Drifting awkwardly toward the stage, the visitor took a seat as close as he dared. The current dancer was descending to gracefully collect his tips as the DJ's voice blasted over the music, introducing a fresh face to the stage.  
A glistening adonis appeared from the glare and crouched enticingly at the pole. Below him, the visitor hesitated to look, feeling foolish for his embarrassment.  
Why was he at a fucking strip club if he couldn't even look at the dancers...

They made eye contact. 

The stripper smiled at his shy audience, holding his attention, hands sliding down his sculpted thighs and drawing the gaze over every inch of exposed leg.  
A smirk lit up his face as a loud pop song hit the speakers.  
He sprang to action, filling up the stage with a sort of dancing that broke down to a routine of impressive jumps, handstands, pushups. Exercises beyond identification but were mesmerizing to watch.  
Money fluttered like autumn leaves as a patron rained his enthusiasm onstage.  
Smiling and flexing, the stripper stayed alert for anyone aroused to open their wallets, wiggling his hips towards the shy roll of bills that bounced toward the pole.  
He blew a kiss to the shadow sitting there and glided off the floor.  
Muscles rippled as the dancer snaked up the pole like the twist of a powerful screw, stretched his limbs, posed statuesque against the lights. A red halo setting fire to waves of golden hair. 

For the first time that night, the spellbound bachelor straightened his shoulders and raised his chin to admire the glow.

"Hello!" 

Prosecco sloshed in his glass as the man shook, startled by the bright face that appeared at his shoulder. Startled that anyone would speak to him as he shuffled around the club's perimeter hoping he looked like a normal person. 

But this was the stripper. That guy who blew him a kiss from the pole.

"Uh, Hi..." 

"What's your name? I don't think I've seen you here before." The stage must make him appear taller. There was at least a half foot drop between the patrons chin and the windswept tuft of hair that leaned fearlessly into his personal space.

"What?" Music too loud. Wine too fast. "My name? I-is, I, it's, I'm Robbie-"

"Please say it again? Rob..."

"Just Rob. Just call me Rob." Robbie crooked his free hand to initiate a close quarters handshake. His limp wristed offer was met by a sturdy, powerful grasp. 

"Nice to meet you, Rob," the dancer's hand stayed curled around the bachelor's awkwardly wide palm. "Just call me Sportacus."

"Spartacus?"

"Sport-a-cus!"

The dancer's Scandinavian-sounding accent competing with loudspeakers was overwhelming Robbie's ability to comprehend much speech. He nodded anyway.

"I was saying that I haven't seen you here before," continued Sportacus with a skilled friendliness, "are you having a good night?"

"I liked your dancing." 

"Oh, thank you!" The stripper lit up with genuine appreciation. Robbie didn't know what else to say. He noticed a thin, stylish mustache above Sportacus's lip that complemented him in a very unusual way. Clearly someone who was very secure in his appearance. With a flair for the offbeat. 

"What?" Robbie had missed the good-looking man's next words to him. The empty wine glass trembled, slick in his sweaty palms.

"I was thanking you for that very, very nice tip you gave me-"

"Was it enough?"

The mustache twitched as the sound of his delighted laugh melted into the bass. 

"Ah, it's never enough- that's why I'm a slave to the pole."

"That's too bad."

"No! I love a hustle, I love to move! I love meeting interesting guys who come to this club looking for a good time, I love making them feel good..." 

They were so close in this secluded corner. A tiny pocket of intimacy where the scent of body spray tingled in Robbie's nose. Apple spice. Warm touch.

"What's your hustle?"

"Huh? Oh, I'm a chef. Well a s-sous chef."

"Mmm." The strippers hand rumpled the straight edge of Robbie's shirt collar."What do you cook?"

"I try not to." 

"Ha! Not a fan of work?"

"Eugh. I hate working."

"So do you like fun?" There was a twinkle in those stunning blue eyes. This question mattered.

"Some...times?"

"Then let's have some fun, Rob!"

"Doing what?"

"There's rooms open," Sportacus directed Robbie's gaze with a soft hand. "Over there. You can just buy a dance, and I'll take things from-"

"No! No thanks." Interrupted Robbie. He sucked in a breath, regretting his hasty reply.  
Sportacus seemed unphased by the rejection aside from a slight wrinkle of disappointment around his eyes.  
Shit.

"Are you sure? It's only forty for the first song, you can leave if you're not satisfied." The dancer offered.  
His steady hand rested persuasively on Robbie's shoulder.

"I-I'm-I'm sure. Yes. Sorry." Robbie stammered, flinching away from the invitation. "I need to leave, pick up my kid. She-she's babysitting..."

Too much information. He didn't even need an excuse.

"Oh, of course. Don't want to make you late! Can I text you next time I'm on shift?"

"You want- no, no, but I'll be back soon. Just not tonight."

"I will see you soon then," Sportacus flirtatiously straightened the end of his mustache. "I hope."

"Good night." Robbie could barely restrain his haste as he swerved around the other boozy patrons and pushed open the door, stepping into the street lights. A cold drizzle pattered down from the above.  
He turned up his collar and half-ran to the safety of his car, plunking behind the wheel damp and a little out of breath. 

"Shit. Cursity curse." Neon text messages flashed across his screen as he clumsily punched an address into the map. He drove at the slowest legal speed, anxious about the wine still swirling in his gut. 

Luckily, he managed to navigate to the intended cul-de-sac and secure his passenger without a karmatic accident.

"I just got your message." Robbie explained. 

"It's fine, dad. I was just playing Animal Crossing with Stephanie." His daughter yawned over the squeaking windshield wipers. She buckled into the backseat without any urgency.

"She's up this late?"

"Uh, yeah...? She's like, a normal teenager."

"I thought you were in the same grade."

"Thirteen is technically a teen," the snarl in her voice annoyingly echoed Robbie's own snappish tendencies. "Anyway, you're the one making me stay up so late. It's a school night."

"Yes, yes." Grumbled the irresponsible father. 

"Got my homework done."

"Did you need help with the, uh, the chemistry q-quiz?"

She shook her head. Her pigtails bounced, frizzy from the rain.

"Are you hungry?"

"We had pizza, dad. And cereal. Although Ziggy's not s'posed to have sugar."

"Cereal is sugar?"

"Duh." The girl slumped against the car window. "Got any more questions before I pass out?"

"No. No, I'll just- just get us home." Silence took over the drive.  
The rain drummed steadily until they pulled into the winding apartment complex. 

"Grab your backpack-" Robbie nagged against his better judgement.

"I got it." His daughter slammed the car door behind her. 

As she trudged away, Robbie fished the handful of leftover bills from his jacket and shoved the crinkled wad into the glovebox before following. He breathed a lingering scent of apple spice.

Only a slim shaft of light from his daughter's bedroom occupied the cold basement apartment.  
Quietly shaking a heap of sugarcrunch cereal into a mug- and cursing himself for not buying milk earlier- Robbie then tiptoed to his own room.  
He paused in the hall.

"Goodnight, Trixie."  
The light clicked off. Well, hopefully she was sleeping. 

By the time he kicked off his slippers and settled into bed with his snack, it was almost eleven. Robbie sighed, remembering that he had to work after driving Trixie to school in the morning. He was bored just thinking about the tedious kitchen routine. Too bored to sleep.

But something spun in the back of his mind, glittering and smiling. Mustache. Muscles. Strong and steady hands beckoning, touching. 

Robbie felt his body relax as the night's events played in his mind. A stripper- a sexy man almost gave him a lap dance. Asked for his number, wanted to see him again. A hot fantasy for sure.  
Robbie had been single for too long. Even if it was from a sex worker, the attention felt... good.

What if he had taken that dance? What if they had gone to that dark room. Gotten close together, strong tan arms wrapping his shoulders. Ass grinding on his thigh. Warm breath hot sweat his name breathed in a soft accent through trembling lips. 

That wine-drunk buzz returned and moved his hands beneath the bedsheets. His body was needy, expectant, aroused as the scene of what could have been unfolded in his mind. Just imagining those blue eyes rolling back in ecstacy was enough to hit the sweet climax that left him breathless.

"Sportacus..." Robbie gasped softly into the dark. But the sensual image faded away as sleep struck like a cannonball. He drifted helplessly into oblivion.


	2. Chapter 2

"Can we drive through Double-Caff before school?" Trixie tried her luck her father fumbled with his car keys. Neither of them were early birds, mornings being a sensitive time of day. 

"Easy on the coffee, kid." Robbie grunted. "That habit builds up fast, soon you'll be smoking cigars on the playground."

"Playground? What am I, five years old? If I have my own babysitting money then I should be able to buy a frappuccino sometimes."

"We don't have time. Seatbelt." He couldn't always be a fun dad. Too many calls from teachers over the years had worn him down.

Trixie didn't complain, but spent the ride silently texting on her phone, barely looking up to say goodbye when they arrived at school. Robbie waved to her retreating backpack. He checked the clock to make sure there was time to hit Double-Caff before his shift. A tall frappuccino was needed to perk up the groggy consequences of the night before. 

A steady stream of caffeine and sugar dragged the sous chef through his long work day at the catering company, ten hours of tedious food preperation where the highlight was scooping ice cream into hundreds of little paper cups. Robbie had never thought he could actually lose his appetite for chocolate ice cream.

"I don't eat meat."

"Since when?" Bewildered, Trixie's father watched her push away the pork chops he'd rescued from work. "You used to live only on chicken nuggets."

"Well, I like other foods now. Foods that didn't have to get killed." Trixie mashed barbecue sauce into a pile of fried rice instead.

"That's a dark take on dinner." Remarked Robbie. He plated his own food from the styrofoam container. 

"Its my own choice, dad! Just be happy that I'm eating vegetables."

"Alright, alright. Eat what you want, it doesn't really upset me." He had maybe given the wrong answer. Trixie looked slightly put out, as though hoping for a fight. Teenage rebellion never rested. 

"I'm sleeping at Stephanie's house tonight." She declared. "Her uncle's taking us to a movie."

Now there was something to question. But an idea occurred to Robbie before he opened his mouth to object. 

"Sounds fun. What movie are you watching?" 

"Uh... that new superhero movie..." said Trixie.

"Just don't stay up too late again, " Robbie casually sipped a his glass of some urine-colored sports drink he'd bought only to appease other's judgement for his household's soda drinking ways. It was terrible tasting, but his mind was elsewhere.

If Trixie wasn't home that night, he didn't have to be home either. 

There was still cash in the glove box. Did he dare spend it...?

He still hadn't quite committed to going even after Trixie had been picked up for her sleepover. Even so, he quickly showered and groomed himself, finding an unwrinkled shirt to wear. Fancy.

The clock read 9:00pm. Tucking a roll of bills into his pocket, Robbie raised his chin and walked boldly into the Magic Lamp. A drink would calm his nerves. But there wasn't time before courage ran out. He could only hope that Sportacus would be there tonight. 

"Oh, hello again!" And suddenly there he was. Dressed in blue, glowing under the hazy lights. The dancer.

"Uh, hi. We me-met yesterday." Robbie explained. Curse his stutter. "I came back for that dance."

"I remember!" Sportacus was smiling at him.

"How do I? Do we...?"

A gentle hand curled around Robbie's arm.

"Just come with me."

They were surrounded by red curtains that shimmered with a nonspecific eastern-looking design. Robbie sat rigidly in the single chair. His eyes scanned the almost naked man's body the stood over him. 

Alone together, sheltered by dim lights and tight space, the racing thoughts began to slow. Physical senses took the lead. Stuffy air, damp leather seat, muffled bass, apple spice cologne. Human heat and closeness accompanied by hungry, masculine touch.  
Now, Sportacus leaned into Robbie and nudged apart his thighs. He brushed against the seams of Robbie's jeans with teasing friction as his hips began to grind slow circles into the man's lap.

Instinctively, Robbie clenched his body to keep himself from moving. But the stripper took his stiff hands in his own and guided them along his torso. Feeling Sportacus's muscles was unbelievable- a photoshopped fantasy in the flesh. 

"Have you done this before, Rob?" His Scandinavian accent came out in a breathy murmur. 

"N-no, " Robbie admitted. "You're my first. First private dance, I mean."

"Tell me if you want to slow down or stop, okay?"

"I will. But that's- I like that."

"Yes? How about this then..." Sportacus pushed Robbie's hands to the back of the chair, holding his arms behind his head while grinding at a faster pace. 

The air between them grew hotter. Damp.

Robbie's guard began to fall away, breathing heavily to the rhythm of the other man's body that leaned closer into his until they tangled together, limbs clutching and stroking, hungry for the feeling of each other's touch. 

Sweat soaked through Robbie's shirt where Sportacus's heaving chest pressed against him. A soft exhale tingled in his ear.

"I thought about you last night." The whisper came from Sportacus. Robbie shivered, feeling the mustache hairs tracing down his neck. His shirt buttons were open, and Sportacus's nose was venturing beneath the collar. Moist lips caressed his trembling throat. "Somehow, I knew you'd come back to me."

"Oh yeah?" Robbie controlled his voice with effort. 

"You're sexy."

"No, no- no, you're sexy. I'm just- ohhhh..."

A gentle nibble on his collarbone released a moan of agony from within him. His fingers flexed where they groped against the stripper's skin. Robbie had assumed that the dance would wind down when he showed arousal, but Sportacus pushed it further, breathing against his earlobes and neck, stroking his dark hair. Driving into his lap with purpose. 

In the face of such passion, Robbie struggled to remain still. The erection in his pants seemed to be a welcome presence in the room as Sportacus jumped it vigorously. Whether orgasm was allowed during a lap dance was now beside the question. It was happening, and Robbie gasped as he came, shaking to his core, straddled by the erotic superman who rode him with a gleam of sweaty satisfaction. 

The image etched itself into Robbie's mind. For a moment he could only feel elation, overwhelmed by a thrilling gratitude for whatever had decided he deserved this.

Sportacus was still sitting on him, gentle touches bringing him back to earth. They seemed to be floating together in that chair. As the red curtains became visible once more, the two men locked eyes.

"W-well..." Robbie mustered. He was a wreck and it showed.

"That was fun," a grin stretched Sportacus's lips, as if admiring his handiwork. "Can you stay for more?"

"I want to. B-but it's late, and I'm... it's late."

"Sorry to lose you already. Take my number, okay?"

"Yeah! Yeah, I'll write it down right now. Here-" Robbie surrendered an ample amount of cash that made Sportacus's eyebrows jump in surprise. "Thanks. Thank you for the attention and- you're very nice. Far too nice. So thank you." 

Sportacus leaned against the chair and watched his client dress again, offering him the crumpled jacket he'd cast aside. Before leaving the curtained area he put a hand on Robbies shoulder, startling him. 

"You don't seem like a bad guy. I hope you feel good about yourself, you deserve that."

"Uh, sure. Good night, Sportacus." He exited briskly.  
The club noise followed Robbie to his where he faced his reflection in the rearview mirror.  
Damp, disheveled. Red faced and alive.  
He drew a deep breath and started the engine, tucking the precious gum wrapper bearing the stripper's phone number into his pocket.

The street lights passed hazily as his hands drove the car home. His eyes fixed dead ahead, mind lost in wanderings of all kinds. Until a sudden buzz alerted him to his worldly connections. At a stoplight, he read the short text on his phone.

Night dad :) don't forget milk tomorrow

The idea that his daughter thought of him even at a sleepover felt like a hug to Robbie's heart. He sent her a quick message before the light turned green.

Sleep well Trixie. I'll get milk. Love you 

And the car continued silently down the misty asphalt.

**Author's Note:**

> Drop your favorite emoji in the comments if you're interested in reading more?? I'd appreciate it forever ThanKs horny ppl 😜


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